


A Big Fucking Mess

by ambersagen



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU: still secret werewolves, Adopted Stiles Stilinski, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), Dad Finstock, Dead Claudia Stilinski, Derek is a Good Friend, Good Peter Hale, M/M, The Hale Pack - Freeform, copcake, i fucked up and forgot i was going to kill the sheriff, lots of characters are aged down, so he is magically not dead now!, timelines are different yo, yay!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2020-03-05 19:59:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18835717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambersagen/pseuds/ambersagen
Summary: Bobby Finstock is a dedicated sports coach and P.E. instructor, so how hard could raising a kid be anyway? YOLO or whatever the kids are saying these days.I mean, its not kidnapping if you adopt the kid, right?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so this is a thing

Peter Hale was sitting in the stands again, as he had done every Tuesday and Thursday after classes during practices, and Bobby Finstock was capital D Done with him.

“Get your hormone tainted eyes off my kid, Hale. You don't even want to know what freaky stuff he’s into, believe me. I didn't want to know but the kid's an over sharer and some things cannot be unseen.” Bobby knew Stiles was catnip for all these horny kids sniffing around for nubile twinks, and if he had to put the guard in ‘legal guardian’ then so be it, no one was going to touch his kid unless his kid wanted them to and used appropriate protection. And didn't do it on the lacrosse field. That was a hard rule. Lacrosse was sacred and no one, not even the coach's adopted son, was allowed to defile it. 

“Yes sir,” Peter grumbled, returning his attention to the book in his lap instead of fucking off like he should be doing. 

“Sure, ignore me, that’s real nice,” Bobby said, squinting at the teen as he stepped up a few steps in the stands for maximum looming. “Now why the hell are you hanging around school like a creeper? I don't need any extra teenage angst on my field."

"Excuse you,” it was hilarious how put out the kid was. He clearly thought he was suave and Grown Up, and the sad thing was all the kids he hung out with probably thought so too. Peter huffed, snapping the book he wasn’t really reading closed with a dramatic flourish. Bobby was second hand embarrassed just watching him.  “I'm not a teen anymore, and you couldn’t tell me what to do even when I was.”

"There's a teen in eighteen Hale, now get the hell out of here, you don't even go here anymore."

Peter sniffed. "I'm here to support my nephew. It's not a crime for family to watch practice is it? And little Derek needs lots of watching after."

Bobby  squinted at him, then squinted at the field where Derek Hale was running plays with Jackson Whittemore while the rest of the team heckled them from the sidelines. What the heck. Take his eyes off these damn kids for one second and its anarchy out there. Peter was obviously full of shit, especially since this whole stalking thing had been going on for so long that Bobby was starting to question his kid’s abilities of perception. Maybe Stiles needed glasses or something. But then again, maybe Peter had a point with this watching out thing. Derek certainly seemed to be pushing boundaries, throwing his weight around like a football player, eyes glowing an electric blue as he ducked under Jackson to score on him. Huh. Now there was an idea. 

“Hey Hale, your family’s freaky right? All you kids with your teenage angst and fangs and shit?”

Peter’s eyes went wide for a moment, his hand twitching on the book, leaving faint dents in the cover. Bobby rolled his eyes. So much drama with these kids.

“No don't give me that look, you all suck at hiding it but I don't give a shit as long as you all keep bringing in the trophies. We gotta beat Sundale and lord knows we couldn't do it with a team full of Greenburgs.” So true. Now that Peter had graduated their basketball team was a wash. Bobby completely despaired of them and had insisted that Derek switch to lacrosse for the sake of the school. There were just enough good, regular kids on the lacrosse team to give them a fighting chance if they added whatever nonsense was in the Hales to the mix. “I was just wondering if you guys know about other freaky shit.”

The boy was pale, stiff as a board but willing to lie through his teeth to keep his secret safe. Bobby always admired the kids who would lie right to his face without blinking. It was a good life skill, one he usually encouraged and rewarded when it didn't involve getting his disaster child the help he needed with all this magical crap that he was so desperately trying to hide. Hah. As if Bobby was born yesterday instead of trained and tested in the hellfire of the American Public School System to have his own almost psychic sense for when kids are up to no good.

The boy managed tolerably well, coulda fooled most of the teachers if only he had the luck of facing them instead of Bobby Finstock. 

“I don't know what you mean.” Peter’s voice didn't waver despite his little claw slip up. He paused, eyes flicking to his nephew for a moment before he forced himself to relax. Bobby checked the field too, but no one was listening in. Stiles was shooting them an amused look, probably thinking his adopted dad was giving Peter hell for creeping around. Peter noticed the attention too, and seemed to come to a decision. “More specifics would be nice, seeing as how I’m not a mind reader.”

oh HO. Ballsy. Keeping it cool and giving himself plausible deniability. Nice try but ain't nobody got time for that shit when Stiles had magical, completely uncontrolled mind powers that allowed him to blow up stuff just by sneezing. Bobby was getting tired of buying new light bulbs and pretending he didn't notice when objects started randomly hovering when Stiles zoned out. 

“Sparkles, lights blowing out, Harry Potter kind of shit. I just want to make sure its safe. He had a lot of bad dreams last week and it was a poltergeist the remix in our house every evening.”

“Stiles has been blowing up light bulbs?” Peter asked, worry all over his face. The kid might be a creep but he wanted Stiles to be happy at least. It was almost enough to make Bobby’s heart grow two sizes that day. But it was also gross and no one was ever going to be good enough for his boy no matter how cunning or possibly supernaturally protective they were.

“You got it, Hale. Now get me some info will you? And get out of here before you make Greenburg cry. The kid’s a nervous wreck with just one Hale around.”

Peter nodded, standing slowly. “I’ll look into it. Not that I have any idea what you’re talking about. You should probably keep your strange theories to yourself. People might think you’re crazy, or dangerous.”

Bobby waved him off impatiently. “Yeah yeah threats of bodily harm blah blah blah. Right back at you Mr. Pervert Eyes. We keep this between us. You should come over for dinner tomorrow night. Stiles is making lasagna and it’s better than sex. Should help keep your mind off certain other, not yet legal forms of sex.”

He clapped Peter on the shoulder, ignoring the kid’s flustered stuttering as he prowled back out onto the field to kick some slacker ass. Besides, Peter’s reaction would be nothing compared to Stiles’ horror when he hears his dad invited his long time crush over for dinner. Maybe he could convince Stiles to make a second batch of lasagna....

 


	2. Chapter 2

"Daaaaaaaaaad!" A panicked thumping joined the shrieking as Stiles'  half jumped, half fell down the stares and into the living room. "Have you seen my homework folder? I took it out last night—"

"Homework's not important unless its for econ!" Bobby cut over the teen, who sputtered and flipped him off. "More importantly, have you seen my shoes? I swear I left them right here."

"See, it makes sense that _I'm_ late," Stiles said, sniffing at his hoodie before making a face and pulling it on over his tee. "I'm a teenager. I'm supposed to do stupid stuff like sleep in and skip class."

Bobby shoved a whole slice of bread into his mouth, chewing rapidly as they both tried to grab a banana and almost ended up squashing the bunch before managing to grab one a piece. "Are you saying I'm too old for rebellion?" He demanded, scandalized.

"You're a teacher! You can't be late!"

"Neither of you are allowed to be late," John said mildly, flipping through the morning paper without even looking up. "Stiles, your homework is right here with the rest of your stuff, and your bag. Bobby, your shoes are under the chair in the hall by the closet."  He took a long sip of his coffee as the pair, with various levels of cursing and flailing, stumbled around each other and the house before rushing out the door with hurried "love you"s and "have a good day". With a contented sigh he put his now empty mug down, pondering whether he should get some weeding done today or if he should mow the lawn instead. The yard was starting to look as frazzled as most of the Stilinski-Finstock household, but he was feeling lazy. 

He checked the clock, ten minutes had passed in blissful silence, before shrugging and going back to his paper. The yard could wait. 

Almost twenty minutes after he had been left alone for the morning he heard identical rumbles of shitty car engines and the screech of tires as the fastest of the two cars slammed to a stop, no doubt claiming the only remaining driveway spot and leaving the other driver to park on the curb. The losing car must not have been that far behind though as both Stiles and Bobby banged into the house, disbelief warring with anger and betrayal crossing both faces in equal measure. 

"Welcome back," John said, not bothering to hide his smirk at all as he perused the sports section. 

"HOW COULD YOU?" Stiles shrieked as he chucked his bag across the living room, kicking his shoes off into the void of the hall way with equal fury. "MY OWN FATHER! I'M A GROWING BOY. I NEED SLEEP NOT PRANKS!"

"Dads are supposed to prank their children, especially those foolish enough not to know Saturday comes after Friday despite being alive on this planet for seventeen years. I'm surprised you haven't learned that much by now, but with a teacher like that...." John smirked at Bobby, who had followed their son, pulling at his hair which was now wilder than he had woken up with. 

"Him I understand, but how could you do this to _me_?? Your own loving husband?" He shook his fist at John, who took another sip of coffee, unperturbed. "You two are stuck together by blood, _I'm_ the one you need to dote on and bribe to stick around! I can't believe you let us think it was a weekday." 

Bobby threw himself down dramatically on the sofa, grunting a bit when Stiles followed, landing on the older man's legs. "I should file for divorce. This is spousal abuse."

"You do that dear. Just remember, I had you sign that prenump and you wont get a penny out of me to fund your lazy weekend lifestyle." He flipped open the paper again as twin yells of "abuse!" were hurled at him with equal despair. It was good to be dad. 

"Ugh. I'm going back to bed. Nobody better wake me up unless the zombie apocalypse has finally started." Stiles groaned when it became clear that John had no remorse for his evil, evil actions. He moaned pathetically again for good measure, pushing up with difficulty and heading for the stairs. 

"Have a good nap, son," John called. He waited until he could hear the sound of thumping indicate Stiles was on his way up before he smirked. In a slightly raised voice, nothing too suspicious, he called over to the living room. "Honey, are you going to lay around all morning? Didn't you tell me you invited that boy over for an interrogation?" a grunt from the couch indicated Bobby was sort of alive. "What was his name again? Potter? One of the Hales, isn't he?"

There was a crash from above them, and a few drawers  by the sink sprang open of their own accord. John pretended not to see. Plausible deniability kept him employed these days. It was better not to know as long as no one was getting hurt...too badly. 

"Peter??!" Stiles screamed down from the top of the stairs. "Bobby invited Peter Hale over for a what? Daddy you can't hurt him, he's too pretty to be disappeared!"

John frowned over at the lump of Bobby on the couch. "Now why would he need to be disappeared? I thought we were just going to ask him what his intentions were toward a certain young man? Unless something has already happened, which would be very illegal and while I wouldn't want to know anything about it I would remind some people in this room that we have shovels and tarps in the garage and to remember that the freeway has cameras now so taking the back roads would be better."

Ignoring Stiles' embarrassed denials John waited until Bobby raised a hand and made a dismissive wave before he relaxed. "Hez jus comin for lasgna and talk _spookstufs."_ Bobby garbled through the pillow he was mashing his face into. 

John nodded. Made sense to him. Anyone who wasn't stupid as rocks knew something was up with those Hales. Especially if you worked in law enforcement. There's only so many times you could be called over for reports of wild animals or children covered in blood before you caught on. 

"Daaaaaaaaaaaddddddds?" Stiles was gesticulating from half way down the stairs, hanging wildly over the edge of the banister to make sure they saw his indignation. 

"Weren't you going to make lasagna tonight?" John asked, going back to his paper. He had reinforced the rails on the stairs ages ago so he wasn't too worried. Especially after walking in on Stiles floating almost on the ceiling one night when he checked in on the boy at the end of night shift. "Do you have everything you need? Wouldn't want to feed the boyfriend substandard Italian."

"I hate you both. I'm going to the store!"

Bobby scoffed something unintelligible from his place on the couch as Stiles stomped back to the door, not seeming to notice his shoes sliding themselves back to the entryway for him to slip on. 

John sighed. "You're sure this kid can help? I don't want to stage an intervention by myself, but there's only so much I can ignore."

"Shuddap. Sleep'n. Itssaturday." Bobby said, flipping him off over the edge of the sofa. 


	3. Chapter 3

"I got it!" Stiles screeched, barreling past his second father as he made a bid for the front door. "Watch the oven timer - don't let dinner burn - Fuck _ouch_ my TOE -Hello Peter!" He said, all in one breath as he threw the door open and leaned against the door frame in what might have been an attempt at a sexy pose if he wasn't sweating like a nervous piggy and breathing kind of funny. "You're right on time, please come in! I'm sorry for my parents in advance and I hope anything that happens tonight will not be held against me unless its like, you know, something totally awesome that won't make you think I'm a freak in which case great and I take full credit."

"Hello Stiles," Peter said, amusement and cockiness in his voice as he is ushered into the Stilinski-Finstock home. "Thank you for having me over Coach, Mr. Stilinski." He offered out his hands, which held a tinfoil wrapped pie that smelled like apples and cinnamon. 

"A deal is a deal is a deal," Bobby said as John grabbed the pie from the teen before Stiles could, either to save it from ending up on the floor or to secure his own portion and not a "Stiles approved" sized slice. "Glad you could come anyway. Hope you brought your appetite and that which we agreed on."

"Yeah!" Stiles beamed at Peter, giving up on fighting his dad for possession of the pie. "I made lasagna and garlic bread and salad."

"Why Stiles, I didn't know you were so skilled in the kitchen," Peter said with an appreciative sniff. "Your father mentioned you would be cooking but I wasn't expecting a full course meal."

"Yeah yeah, flirting and complements all around," Bobby said, taking Stiles by the shoulders and steering him into the kitchen, Peter following dutifully behind. "I want my lasagna. Food first chatter later!"

"Fiiiiiiiine," Stiles rolled his eyes, but his smile was pleased and cheeks reddened by Peter's vocal appreciation. "You'll have to excuse Dad #1 and #2, they aren't used to company or any kind of small talk that isn't about guns or sports."

"Speaking of sports," John said, pulling out plates and forks. "Just how do you two know each other so well?" John asked, looking between his husband and the teen suspiciously. "Hale and Stiles I can understand. They used to go to the same school. But I thought Hale quit the basketball team a year before graduation and I wasn't aware Bobby had taught any of the senior classes." He served up the lasagna as Stiles put the bowl of salad in the center of the table, deliberately turning the serving tongs toward John.

"Oh you know," Bobby said, pulling up a plate and tucking a napkin into his t-shirt like a bib. "We spend a lot of time bonding during lacrosse practice. I keep kicking him out of the stands and he keeps slinking back to watch Stiles run around and get sweaty." He pointed his fork at the boys, who both leaned back with wary expressions. "Teenagers are disgusting bundles of raging hormones, but it's perfectly natural! Don't let the republicans tell you otherwise."

"Hey! Be nice to Peter," Stiles scolded, throwing a pile of napkins at Bobby. "You said he's doing you a favor. This doesn't sound very appreciative of his efforts for you." 

John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose for a few deep breaths before leveling Peter with a serious look that made Stiles wince and wiggle in his seat like he wanted to throw himself in front of the other teen like a human shield. 

"You know, I might be retired from the force but I do, from time to time, enjoy a day out at the shooting range," John said, the eye contact with Peter never wavering as he stabbed the smallest portion of lettuce he could get away with. "I find it helps to keep up practical skills like marksmanship and thought exercises like how to hide a body so that no one will ever find it."

Stiles threw up his hands in despair. "That's it. If you can't be civil to Peter then no flavor for you!" Stiles made a grab for the pepper, which John had begun to liberally apply to his vinegar dressing in hopes of making the salad more interesting, almost managing to pull it from his father's hand before the man rallied and pulled back.

"Hey! Let go. This is my house and my pepper and I can act any way I damn well please." With a short scuffle, and a slap fight that Peter watched avidly while Bobby covered his plate in a protective slouch, the Stilinski men finally pulled apart with a mighty crash as the pepper flew in a black streak across the table. 

"Crap," Stiles jerked back, face scrunching up once, twice, one really odd way, before he finally let out a pained sneeze that sent him hurtling to the ceiling, chair and dinner plate following him up in a magical wave.

John swore, making a grab for his floating son as Bobby just determinedly continued to eat, ignoring the now fully wolfed out Peter, who had been shocked into shifting and was now at a loss for what to do. 

"Has this happened before?" Peter asked, panic slightly slurred due to fangs he was sheepishly retracting, along with his claws and a pair of impressive sideburns, as Stiles began swearing enough to match his father. 

"Nope," Bobby said around a mouthful of lasagna. "Dishes and himself? On occasion, but never both at once never when he would notice?"

"You mean he's been levitating things, including himself, and he doesn't even know he's doing it?" Peter asked incredulously, ducking a bit to avoid taking a sneaker to the face and wincing as the kick stirred up more pepper, hurting his delicate nose. 

" _He_ is right here and would like some fucking help please!" Stiles shouted hysterically, making Peter wince and rub his sensitive ears. John had retreated to the kitchen closet and was grabbing a broom like he thought Stiles might be chased down like a bird that had accidentally flown indoors. 'Somebody do something before I float out the window like Aunt Marge!"

With a sigh Peter jumped, easily grabbing Stiles by the shoulder and bracing his knees on the chair, which sank under their combined weight, or because Stiles was calming down now that someone was successfully helping him. It was hard to tell with magic like this. 

"Two minutes into dinner," Bobby said, having pulled a stopwatch out of his pocket and checking it. "I'm impressed. We didn't even get to eat before losing all control. That has to be a record, even with your werewolf family, right? I bet we're crazier than even you Hales." He was getting excited, competition stirring up his blood, but neither teen was paying him any mind, their eyes locked in a hazy staring contest as they remained pressed together on the chair, hands clasped in each other's shirts. 

"Peter, come talk with me a moment," John said. It wasn't really a request. "Not you Bobby," he pointed meaningfully at his husband. "You stay down here with Stiles and both of you try to stay out of trouble while I figure out what our next step in this magical dance needs to be."

"Hey! Asking the Hales for info was my idea," Bobby complained. "Don't steal my informant!"

"Shouldn't I be up there with you?" Stiles asked, alarm and curiosity written all over his face. 'I'm the one who almost floated up to the stratosphere here. I feel like I should be in on this conversation. Also why are you asking Peter about magic and werewolves? Since when has that been a thing? I thought Derek was naturally that hairy, although I guess if there's like, people born as werewolves then that would be natural for them-"

"Upstairs Peter, if you please," John said, waving the teen up to the office and ignoring the verbal tidal wave coming from Stiles. "Eat your dinner, both of you. No eavesdropping."

"Ugh," Bobby sat back down, glared up at the stairs and then spitefully dragged John's plate over and began eating his lasagna too.

"What? Is that it?" Stiles asked him, flabbergasted. "We aren't even going to try and eavesdrop or spy on them? Even though we have a right to know what they're talking about?" He did a bunch of angry gestures before falling into his chair in a dramatic slump. "I never thought magic would mean embarrassing myself in front of Peter Hale at a family dinner. I always pictured more owls and shit. Maybe a cloak."

"No pets, owl or otherwise, until you learn to feed yourself three times a day," Bobby said, then pointed his fork at Stiles, who had perked up considerably. "AND properly bathe yourself and go to bed at a normal, human hour without supervision. You know, all these are just the basic things necessary to keeping anything alive and well. There's a reason I only interact with children as young as elementary school level. Little creatures that depend on you to survive are hard work."

Stiles snickered at that, but seemed to accept the argument as valid. "Still, it would have been awesome to get a Hogwarts letter instead of accidentally turning myself into a helium balloon at an already awkward meet the parents dinner." He sighed morosely. 

"Oh I don't think you need to worry about that. If Peter is crazy enough to be attracted to you then I don't think anything will scare him off. Besides, did you see that schnozz on him when he went all wolfy? His nose looked like a Klingon's forehead."

"Yeah, what the heck is up with that? And he didn't even rip his shirt off. I thought that was like, wolfman 101. Disappointed!" The sudden screech caused a surprised thump from up in the office, but Bobby didn't even twitch. "Ugh. What do you think they're talking about up there?" Stiles stared at the ceiling like it would reveal all.

"Well, hopefully werewolves are at least somewhat familiar with real live magical boys and Peter has brought us some advice on how to stop you from shooting into space every time you sneeze or have a weird dream."

"Dream?" Stiles sat up on the spot, appalled. "How long have I been doing magic without knowing? Why didn't you guys tell me?"

Bobby sighed, leaning back in his chair and looking longingly at the half full tray of lasagna before rising with a groan. "Stiles, kiddo. We weren't sure if you knew and you weren't telling us at first. We were waiting for you to feel comfortable enough to tell us, and by the time we realized you had no idea what you were causing it was obvious that your magic had something to do with your emotions. We didn't want to rile you up without any way to get answers." He moved to clean up the sad remains of their dinner. If John or Peter wanted food they could reheat it. "Don't think we don't know how you get. You would have gone crazy trying to figure this out. It was better to find you some answers before bringing it up."

Stiles was dead silent for a whole minute, eyes downcast as he fiddled with the unused fork and napkin on the table in front of him. Finally he cleared his throat, still not looking up. "I think you should tell me. Things.  You know. If it's about me, then it's, like-- it's like all those classes on consent, isn't it?" His voice cracked a bit and he ruthlessly cleared it again, squaring his shoulders. "If my body or my brain is doing something and I don't know about it then I want to know about it. It's my body. Or my uhh, magic. I guess."

"Awww fuck," Bobby set down the tupperware he had been filling and came around the table for a hug. "Get over here kid. I'm sorry. I swear we didn't mean it like that." He scooped up the teen in a bear hug, Stiles pushing his face into his second dad's shoulder with a sniffle. "I swear, next time we will tell you first. I'll even break out the old bible and make John swear to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth if that will make you feel better."

Stiles sniffed again. "It might help," he said, voice muffled. "But don't wear the wig. You know he doesn't take it seriously when you wear the justice of the peace wig."

"Hmmmm, if you say so." He gave the boy another squeeze before pulling back and slapping him on both shoulders. "If you help me with the dishes I promise to make sure John only eats one serving of pie. I'll even try to force some proper leftovers on him."

"Deal, as long as we let the pan soak overnight. I am not up for dealing with that level of physical exertion tonight." Stiles said, rubbing his palms aggressively over his face, giving his cheeks a couple hard slaps before bouncing off to the sink with forced cheer. 

They had gotten just about everything from the day cleaned up before the sound of a door opening upstairs signaled the end of the super serious magic meeting. The two looked at each other before Stiles quickly shut off the sink, not even bothering to dry his hands before booking it towards the stairs, leaving Bobby fumbling with the last wet plate and cursing. 

"Retired or not, don't think I can't have every officer in Beacon Hills on your ass in a heartbeat if you hurt my son in any way." John said, obviously on the tail end of an epic shovel talk as he finally descended the stairs. He descended slowly, his bad leg always needing extra effort to move down stairs safely.

"Alright," John said, giving Stiles the nod as he reached the bottom. "You can go make sure your boyfriend is in one piece. I've gotten all I need out of him." 

Stiles didn't even bother with a response, just threw himself up the stairs, almost tripping and smacking his chin on the steps as he scrambled up. 

"What's up, buttercup?" Bobby said, entering the living room with a wet dish and a towel in hand. "Where are the kids? Did Hale have anything helpful to say or did he just give you the same crap all those kids give about their heebs and jeebs?"

John groaned, reaching back to rub his back tiredly. "Something like that. He had general information, a few ideas as to what Stiles might be." John wrinkled his nose. "Apparently there are several...types of magic user Stiles might be. Anything from several levels of human magic users to actually inhuman blood that can only be confirmed or denied based on various weaknesses and family histories? He's going to bring us some books and get us in contact with his family's, and I can't believe I'm saying this, his family's druid."

"Well that sounds like all kinds of fun. Of course it can't just be an easy, straight answer." Bobby sighed, then winced as something above them thumped. 

"Wait, is Stiles upstairs right now?" He said, dread pooling in his stomach. 

John looked at his husband questioningly, but before he could say anything there was another thump, followed by an even louder _groan_. 

It wasn't a groan of pain either.

"You just had to leave them alone, didn't you." Bobby said, shaking his head. He leveled a judgmental look at his husband as another thump, followed by a muffled gasp came from above them.

John looked up at the ceiling with a betrayed glare. "I thought I put the fear of god in that boy," he said, aggrieved. "He was petrified, I swear!"

It was times like this that Bobby was reminded of how innocent his husband was. For sure, he had seen serious shit while working as a cop, hell, he had almost died in the line of duty. But there were some things that showed just how pure and innocent his life had been compared to what Bobby had seen. What Bobby had survived. 

"Oh honey," he cooed, patting the man's cheek lovingly. "I'm sure he was. But let me tell you, I've spent 13 years locked in a cage with these teenagers. 13 years of forced contact with _hoards_ of sticky, lustful teenagers. Believe me, you could have had a gun to their nuts and they would still try to suck each other's faces off."

"Oh yeah, _fuck."_

Well that answered whether their kid was a screamer or not, Bobby thought regretfully. 

John went white as a sheet as their son let loose a particularly wrecked sounding groan. Bobby sighed. Their kid always forgot the vents to his room connected with the living room. 

"My baby..." John whimpered, head falling into his hands in despair.

Grabbing a pot and spoon out of the kitchen Bobby began banging them together as he yelled, "I'm coming up there! You two have ten seconds to be wearing all your clothes or I'm breaking out the STD slides!"

**Author's Note:**

> There will be more but only when other things are updated so it might take a while. Sorry!  
> EDIT: TAGS HAVE CHANGED. THE SHERIFF LIVES. I have decided fuck it im writing copcake. I will save dead sheriff for a less funny fic. 
> 
> Please be kind, comments feed my writing.
> 
>  
> 
> Come say hello. I am a lonely person.  
> ambersagen.tumblr.com


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